Facing the Darkness
by Hornswaggler
Summary: OneShot set after Revelations. Reid once again is forced to remember his time in the cabin. This time, though, he isn't alone. No slash, just two teammates facing some pretty nasty personal demons. Title is fail and subject to change.


**A/N:**

**I've had this written for a long time and totally forgot about it.**

**I think I was trying to think up an ending, but reading through it again…I don't think it really needs much else. For once I won't put an author's note at the bottom, cuz I want to end just like it does. -nod-**

**This is set almost six months (five months, three weeks, six days to be exact) after 'Revelations'. Kinda took a bit of creative liberty and seized a moment that I'll simply say they didn't show in that episode. The flashback can be…sometime when we were concentrating on the team and not seeing Reid. Yeah, that's it. x3**

**Hope ya like it! Reviews are always adored.**

"They say time heals all wounds. I do not agree. In time, the mind, in order to protect its own sanity, covers the wounds with scar tissue. The pain lessens, but it never truly goes away."**  
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_The light bulb always shone with what seemed to be far more light than any normal bulb would produce. Had it be designed that way? Was that just an extra touch to the room? He wouldn't be surprised. Tobias wasn't exactly a stickler for details, but he could easily imagine the MPD man going slightly out of his way to add something like a blinding light bulb._

_Reid blinked, sweat running into his eyes as it had been for the past few hours. He vaguely considered twisting his head to wipe his forehead on his shoulder, but even the thought of that much movement set the idea off immediately. The young agent's mind hadn't exactly been at its peak. His thoughts centered around a few very specific things; negotiating with Tobias when he emerged, enduring the now-expected pain when his father appeared and, though now very rarely, making estimates as to how far along the rest of the team had come on the case. They were mundane thoughts, especially for him, and that revelation worried Reid. There was no telling what was in the injections Tobias was giving him, but it seemed like his entire mind was running at half speed._

"The, uh…the average percentage of assault victims in…" _Brown eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to concentrate. The numbers were there, but they were unresponsive. He couldn't grasp the memory, and that in itself scared the young man far more than the shots themselves originally had. _"I-in Philadelphia…" _It wouldn't come. Reid blinked hastily as he felt the all-too-common tears well up. Unconsciously he glanced down at his right arm, still tied securely to the left one. There was still a pinprick of blood welling up from the most recent needle. Other marks dotted his upper arm, only half healed._

_How long had Tobias been gone? He couldn't remember. Usually his internal clock was accurate to the minute, no matter where he happened to be, but down here…the alternating sudden pain and numbing relief had thrown off everything. How long had he even been down here? How much longer did the team have left?_

_Reid suddenly let his eyes fall shut, his breath catching in his throat. The team…the BAU, specializing in criminal profiling. He was an agent with that team. His boss, the man with the deep, rarely-changing voice who rarely smiled, he was-yes, him. Face now twisted in a grimace, not too uncommon recently, he frantically wracked his mind. There was that large, black agent. He always…what did he do?_

_A tear managed to escape, slipping down his face and leaving a faint track over the dust and dried blood. His team, their faces, their voices, even their blasted _names _were slipping away just as his store of statistics had. Like water trickling out of cupped hands, the harder he reached for them the faster they went. With a shuddering breath, barely holding back a sob, Reid let his head tilt back and stared up at the distant ceiling. _

_The light bulb shone bright. It seemed far brighter than any other bulb would be…Brown eyes squinted against the glare and he could only just restrain a groan as his head began throbbing again. The pain in his leg was returning, a steady feeling of multiple knives being twisted into his foot. Tears were sliding feely now, drawing streaks down his face and neck. How long had it been? He didn't even know if he was wondering about his time tied to this chair or simply concerned about the time between the painkillers. That seemed to be the one thing that moved time along in this place. He would be tortured then helped, then tortured again…an endless process. It was only the knowledge that Tobias had never failed to attempt sympathy that kept Reid from simply giving up. He could endure the beatings because he knew there was relief coming. The only reason…_

_Footsteps made him jerk his head forward, stifling a cry at the movement. The man that strode in had a nearly unreadable expression and, in his condition, Reid didn't ponder it too much._

"T-Tobias?" _he whispered, his eyes half closed. The silence that followed was answer enough and the agent let his head fall, chin hitting his chest. The footsteps resumed, coming toward him and he heard the distinct click of the revolver opening. _"No, no, _please…_" _A sob finally escaped, drowning out the slight whir as the bullet was spun._

_His team…why couldn't he remember his team?_

"Hey, kid, wake up."

A hand was shaking his shoulder and Reid managed to pry his eyes open blearily, barely noting that his breathing was halting and his pulse rapid. His entire line of vision was filled with the back of the airplane seat he was curled up in, a dull tan. It seemed a bit shinier than usual, however. One hand idly going to the spot, he frowned. It was wet. But what would've…?

"Reid, look at me." Blinking the sleep from his eyes and pushing long hair out of his face he shifted around to see Morgan leaning forward in the seat opposite. His expression was one of rarely-seen worry and Reid's gut seemed to twist. What could get that man looking so anxious? "You, uh…you alright?" Sitting up fully now, the younger agent glanced automatically around the jet. It was empty save for them.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine…"

"You sure?" Morgan frowned. "You sure don't seem fine. Look, I know this case was a rough one, but-""What ever happened to the agreement that we wouldn't profile each other?" he muttered, one sleeve going to rub at his eyes.

"I don't think that counts when even a twelve year old could see something's up," his friend defended. "Were you dreaming?" Reid frowned now, his brain still fighting to wake up fully.

"I-I think so…but why would you-" His eyes suddenly rested on his sleeve. It was very slightly damp. One hand went to his face and the man's breath hitched. Had he been _crying?_

The memory of the dream suddenly came rushing back as if that realization had released the dam holding it. New tears suddenly threatened to spill and he hastily rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to be rid of them. It was _Morgan _sitting in front of him now. Derek Morgan, the one who was always complaining about Reid outsmarting him every day, the one who could spot someone's problems almost as fast as Hotch, the one who stole his Jello when he was in the hospital…

"You alright, kid?" the dark agent asked, and Reid pulled himself back to the present quickly. He was able to control his breathing but his heart was beating far too loudly for his liking. With a shuddering sigh, he let his head fall into his hands. Morgan could be as stubborn as Hotch was, especially when trying to figure something out about someone else. It was his specialty, or so Prentiss would tell him with an exasperated eye-roll.

"No," he murmured finally. "No, I'm not." Two sets of dark eyes met as he glanced up and the young man forced himself to at least look slightly composed. "It's been almost six months, Morgan. Five months, three weeks and six days, and I'm _still…_" He broke off, mentally berating himself for getting into this conversation in the first place. The rest of the team was still at the police department, wrapping up various files and doing one last interview. Hotch had insisted Reid head back to the plane after he fell asleep over a report and Morgan had followed, insisting that 'After all this, I've developed a temporary allergy to hard mental strain.' One hand rubbed at his right arm, the very slight irregularities as familiar to him as his own name was.

"You know," Light brown hair fell into his face as he started, having nearly forgotten his colleague was still talking, "no one would think any less of you if you took a bit of time off…"

"I don't need time off." The statement was muttered and almost defiant, having heard the suggestion time and time again. "I-I need to be on the field. I have to prove that I can, uh…that I can still do this."

"Reid, you don't have to prove anything," Morgan told him, his brow furrowed in a frown. "You joined this team when you were twenty one and you've helped us solve hundreds of cases since then. There's not a person out there who's met you that doubts your ability to do this job."

"Not to them…" Reid swallowed, his hand now tightening around his upper arm. The memories of the needle being pushed in there were just as vivid as his memories of his first year at the BAU, if not more so. He looked up at the man sitting across from him. "I need to…I need to prove it to myself." Morgan's frown deepened and he folded his arms across his chest.

"Why would you have to-?"

"I _forgot_, Morgan!" The sudden outburst was unexpected for both of them but Reid plowed on. "I forgot the time, I forgot the simplest facts…I forgot the team." He swallowed again nervously, looking out the window to his right. "I knew the Bureau, I knew the BAU…but I couldn't remember the team. You, Hotch, JJ, you were all just general descriptions as if I had seen you in passing in the store."

"You were under unimaginable stress, Reid, temporary memory blanks aren't too uncommon-"

"They are for me!" The older man cut off as Reid turned back to him, his face one of desperation. "I don't forget things. I-I _never _forget things, but I couldn't remember the team. I didn't know who I was…"

"You forgot your name, too?"

"No, I knew my name. I knew my title, knew that Gideon insisted on calling me a doctor so that people would forget my age. I knew everything about myself, but I didn't know _who _I was." He swallowed again, attempting to control his breathing which had begun to grow rapid. As usual the young man's stammering became more apparent when he was stressed and he had to force himself to slow his speech. "Spencer Reid doesn't forget his team, he-he doesn't have to think hard to come up with average homicides in Philadelphia. I-I knew I who I was…but I-i-it wasn't _me_." There was a drawn-out silence before Morgan sighed softly, his arms resting on his knees.

"So you're trying to tell me that brain of yours is all you have, huh?" he asked, and Reid glanced over with a puzzled look. "You know, most people wouldn't have survived what you went through. You endured all that guy threw at you, and you know why?" His colleague raised a brow and Morgan managed a slight smirk, jabbing the young man in the shoulder as he went on. "Because you are one tough little nerd. There was something about you, kid, that managed to get through that, and it wasn't a photographic memory-"

"Eidetic."

"Right…" The black agent shook his head slightly before going on. "So what if you forgot? I would be seriously worried if you kept a clear head all that time. It came back, though, when it really mattered. You got that message to Hotch and we got you out of there. Only you could manage something like that." Reid's mouth opened and closed a few times, his hand tightening over the marks on his arm before he managed to speak.

"I-I didn't really," he muttered. "I didn't get out of there, I…" He sniffed once, rubbing his free hand over his face quickly. Brown eyes kept glancing up quickly at Morgan before looking away again and he cleared his throat. "The, uh…those drugs, they…It took me way too long to quit, Morgan. I-I wouldn't have even started if I hadn't-hadn't taken them off Tobias, I…" The profiler swallowed again, his breathing shaky. "I should've gone with Gideon, but I had to, uh…I had to go back." His eyes were wet and he blinked quickly, looking back out the window.

He knew he never really made eye-contact with people, something Hotch had been trying to work on for a while. At this point, however, it was less due to the Asperger's and more because he didn't want the other man to see as he fought to keep the tears back. FBI agents didn't need to start breaking down at the end of cases, after all, especially ones that were this quickly finished.

"Hey…Spencer." Reid looked back around quickly, barely disguising his shock. Of all the people he knew, only a few called him Spencer and hearing Morgan say it was something totally alien. He finally managed to meet his eyes, struggling not to look away and watch a point right above the shoulder like he usually did. "Look, I know you blame yourself for that whole thing, just as much as JJ keeps thinking it was her fault. You gotta get this through your head, kid; _no one _could've imagined that Tobias would try something like that, alright? It could've just as easily been Prentiss or Hotch that was taken, you just happened to be in the wrong place when he showed up."

"T-the drugs, though-"

"Let me tell you something." The younger agent finally let his eyes flicker to the side, his arm still clenched beneath his hand as if he were trying to squeeze the scars off. "If that had been me, I would _still _be on the stuff. He had you for two days, and with regular injections like that you were addicted long before we showed up. It's not a matter of will power, Reid. Addictions like that aren't something you can just avoid by willing yourself to. It's a physical issue, not a mental one." Reid closed his eyes as he struggled to keep his breathing even, his heart still pounding. "What really matters is that you _did _quit. You kicked the stuff on your own. Not a whole lot of people could say that." It was silent for a moment as the brown-haired man slowly shook his head. He finally let go of his arm, the hand covering his eyes and pressing his temples.

"I can still see him," he murmured quietly. "Nearly every night, I can see his face…Tobias was as much a victim as I was, but he had to die to eradicate his father." Morgan sighed, his hands folding as he glanced out the jet's window.

"The world isn't exactly the fairest place sometimes."


End file.
